


Don't Bring Me Down, I Pray

by hardlystraight



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Dead Terry Milkovich, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, References Monica Gallagher, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, maybe some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlystraight/pseuds/hardlystraight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And Ian may have shot him by default if he wasn't so captivated by those bright blue eyes, that strong jaw and murderous expression upon the boy's face.<br/>The war had scarred him, but boy, he was beautiful."</p><p>Multichapter fic - Zombie!AU w/ clans n stuff.  Plus, a little Soulmate!AU just because.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Soulmate Tattoos](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2376896) by [Destielixer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destielixer/pseuds/Destielixer). 



> Hi :) My first fic, I hope it isn't 100% shit.
> 
> I don't have a beta reader :( If anyone volunteers, I'm up for it, but for now all mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> The soulmate thing was kind of like that Destielixer used where two people have a tattoo on the same part of their body and when they're put together, it makes sense, but separately, its weird and kind of incomprehensible?
> 
> Anyway, the zombie thing is kind of based on a parasite getting into the water system on the North Side and then spread.  
> Basically, once you're infected, it tampers with your brain stem and forces you to work its will. It takes over your body completely until you have no brain function left at all and "die" - leaving your carcass as a host that just walks around looking for another to infect.

 

 

Ever since Ian was a tiny boy, before the apocalypse, he'd wanted his very own soulmate tattoo.

When it came, he'd pranced around the house, showing everyone his fancy ink.  It was on his neck and had been painful as fuck when his skin had darkened to read the words

"Maybe th

      We ma" But Ian had been proud of it all the same.

Only some people had a soulmate tattoo - it was a controversial topic that religious freaks and scientists alike tried to prove, but no one had yet discovered why some people had them and others didn't.  In fact, it was still a mystery to how they even existed in the first place.

There was a weird stereotype that circulated around the South Side of Chicago.  That people with tattoos were big fuckin' softies - "lovers, not fighters" an' all that shit.  The worst part was that it was kind of true.  So nowadays, he wore a scarf.

No one cared if you were queer nowadays, but he still knew the looks he got from people around the neighborhood.  A gay, tattooed, mellow boy.  He hated it.

 

 

* * *

 

Ian crept around a cement pole and spared a glance around the deserted car park.  No sign of any life nearby.

"Hello?" He called, and a gunshot rang out in response.  Ian nearly jumped.

Another tribe?  With a foggy mind, Ian tried to distinguish the gun based on the sound of the shot fired.

It was loud, a  bang  more than a  crack.   With an eye roll, Ian matched it to those nut jobs that valued their clothes and shoes over fucking food and water.  Dressed up and pretended the whole thing was a fucking joke - that the apocalypse was some plot and they were the characters.  That everything would work out in the end.

They called themselves the 'Fourth Wall'.  Bullshit, more like.  He suspected their kind had died out purely based on their naivety and lack of resources (they spent most of their food trading for clean clothing), but if any gun came from a Fourth Waller's hand, it would be that one.  With an icy tingle going down his spine, Ian imagined an attack on a village, targeting the medical tent and descending on the measly population like a pack of angry wolves.  The small community going up in flames and the men, women and children that would start to twitch within hours of their infection, the parasites infecting their brains and forcing them to do it's bidding.  Ian thought of the dying consciousness of children, the last of their sanity used by the parasite to use a gun in order to injure more victims.  Victims that would become hosts.   


Ian shook the thought out of his head.  He had enough nightmares from things he had witnessed.  He didn't need to make up a shitload more that he hadn't even experienced.

Great, then. A diseased Fourth Waller with a smidge of intelligence left to wield a gun.  Ian would have to be careful.

Instead of jumping right in, he decided to draw the beast closer.

"That all you got?  You don't fucking scare me, you pathetic flea ridden rotting piece of shit! Bury yourself 6 inches deep in the fucking ground, where you belong!" Ian spat at the floor as another gunshot rang out and the sound of boots echoed down the car park.

Ian caught a flash of red and a top of black hair behind a pole several meters away from him.  Strange.  Not only did hair always seem the first to go (after sanity, of course), but Zombies rarely had the intellectual ability to hide from their attackers.

So just like that, Ian sped out from behind his safe place, wielding a large blade and his treasured gun ...  Only, he didn't shoot.  Opposite him, a couple of meters away, stood a short man, no older than Ian.  He'd moved from his pole and they were facing each other, weapons wielded.  Brass knuckles adorned his fingers and he had a gun clutched in his small hands.  His hair was, as Ian had previously noted, black and greasy and all over the place.  Ian glanced at his short, dirty hands holding a pistol and saw some letters inked in his knuckles.  A  Milkovich , perhaps?  Or possibly some other gang from out West; he hadn't bothered to learn all the names.   


And Ian may have shot him by default, if he wasn't so captivated by the man's bright blue eyes, his strong jaw that he could make out even through the murderous expression that graced his face.

The war had scarred him, but boy, he was beautiful.

The other boy was, however, not as enraptured by Ian.  He shot the boy and only had enough time to misalign his gun with the redhead's brain.  Ian let out a yelp and clutched his leg, looking up at his attacker.  It was obvious now he wasn't fighting a zombie, the man's features hadn't started to  deteriorate, he held several weapons, and seemed of sane mind.

Despite being _fucking shot in the thigh_ , Ian stumbled to his knees.

"Fuck!" The enchanted daze he had been in vanished and he instead let a spew of curses fall from his lips.  Swearing calmed his nerves.   "What the fuck!?  Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck shit.   Shit! " Instead of helping the boy, calling for help or giving a shit, the black haired beauty just looked on, face void of emotion.

"You done?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.  Ian glared

"You just fucking shot me!  Who the hell are you?" With an exaggerated eye roll, Ian's assailant stepped forward and held out his hand for Ian to shake.

"Mickey of the  Milkovich  clan."  Oh, so he was a Milkovich then.

Ian eyed the hand warily, then took it.  Apparently they had different ideas, and while Mickey pulled back from the handshake, Ian was using it to haul his injured self up.

"Shit!"

"Fuck!" And in a tumble of limbs, the two strangers were lying in a heap on the floor.

"Fuck, my leg.  Get - Mickey,  _get off my fucking leg_   ..." Mickey leapt straight back up, his palms beside Ian's face and legs rigid and straight.  It looked like he was doing a push up over Ian's body.

They stared at each other, breathless, until Mickey rolled off and heaved himself up.  Knowing, now, what Ian wanted, Mickey held out his hand again and Ian pulled himself off the floor.  Mickey seemed to shake himself out of a daze.   


"Ian.  If you were wondering.  Gallagher tribe." Mickey glared on and started gathering his weapons.

Fishing in his bum bag for a bandage, Ian produced a white cloth to bind his leg.  And being the talkative little shit he was, Ian nervously tried conversation with Mickey.  Tribes didn't often interact on friendly terms, hell, they didn't interact, period, but Mickey didn't seem too hostile.

That was bullshit and Ian knew it.  Mickey was just a hot piece of ass.   


"Are you like a warrior ... Or ... ?" Mickey laughed humorlessly.   


"Nah, man.  No social system in my clan.  Searching for a tribe to join and fishing for scraps.  A Fourth Wall pack perished here somewhere and I picked up a gun with some food.  You should probably get the fuck out before my dad finds you.  He'll beat the shit outta  ya .  We were here first." Ian smiled, despite himself.  So he wasn't that hostile.  The boy's words were sinking in.

"Another tribe?"

"That's none 'a  ya  fuckin' business," Mickey snapped.  Before Ian could speak again, Mickey was pulling out his gun and cocking it.

"So, get lost would  ya ?" Ian's hands flew to his holster, now void of a gun, and his blade, at Mickey's feet.  Who did he think he was to fight, anyway, in his condition?  With no option but to vouch for submission, Ian threw up his hands and hobbled out of the car park like a cripple.  Oh well.  The walls were coming apart anyways and the roof had collapsed.  The fuckin thing was on its last legs.  Let that crappy pile of shit  Milkovich  tribe scavenge - they were probably starving their asses off anyways, the vultures.

* * *

 

Ian strolled onto the last ramp that led to the ground floor.  He'd made it down 3 floors already, and his legs were starting to ache a little.  As he was struggling down, however, there was an earth shattering  _boom!_ a nd the floor shook.

Loud chatter and screams came from above as the earth continued to wobble.  With a curt, "Shit!" Ian lost what little balance he had and fell on his ass, sliding down the final ramp.  Now what the  flying FUCK  was going on!?

A piece of cement dropped from the roof, a tiny piece, albeit a fraction of the fucking ceiling, which Ian saw cracking in many other places.  Oh, great.  The  Mikoviches  had gone and fucking blown up the place.

Fucking Fabulous.

There were thunderous footsteps coming his way and Ian tried for his life to ignore the surging pain in his leg and get out of the building, but the ground was shaking like hell.  Down the ramp came 4 or 5 boys, a couple his age, some older, a couple of girls and a woman with her baby.  Then later Mickey bringing up the rear on a ratty old skateboard.  Ian's savior ran by him, grabbing Ian's hand and hauling the boy to his feet.  Unceremoniously, Ian was dumped behind Mickey, grasping his waist, and the boys were out of the crumbling building before their asses were squashed.   


Ian gulped air into his lungs, watching the center of the top floor collapse in on itself.  It seemed everything else was intact, except the entrance and the middle of the carpark.  He was  this close  to being shish kebab and his hot acquaintance had saved him.  Thank fucking God.

Speaking of whom, the boy beside him was mouthing words incoherently, lip trembling.  Then, without warning, he kicked the skateboard at a pile of cement.  It smashed in a pile of woodchips and wheels.

Mickey let out an ear splitting  FUCK!  And ran into the collapsed building.

"Mick!" Ian growled and tried standing.  Finding stability, he picked up and long line of cement wire and hobbled in after the boy.

* * *

 

"Mandy!  MANDY ARE YOU OK!?  MANDY! ... Oh, fuck." Ian stopped walking to catch his breath.

"Mickey it's dangerous in here!  What's wrong?" Mickey ignored Ian's protests and went further into the wreckage.

The ground floor was relatively intact, save for the caved roof above the ramp Ian slid down.  That didn't make it fuckin' safe.

"Mandy!"

"Mickey!" A choked voice came from across the car park.  The raven haired man  ran off towards the voice and Ian slowly followed.

* * *

 

When Ian managed to reach Mickey, he was sobbing beside a girl trapped in a cave of rubble.

"Don't just  _stand there_ , asshole, _DO SOMETHING_!"  Mickey roared.  Ian went red as he bent down to help.

"You fuckin  _ shot me _ , genius, I'd be more help if I wasn't in so much pain." The older boy rolled his eyes dramatically, then went to say something snarky in response.

When he couldn't think of anything and the two had been staring at each other for a minute and a half, Mandy cleared her throat.  Mickey turned back around, a blush blooming on his neck while he pulled her arm around his shoulders.

"Fuck off and help me get this off my sister."

* * *

 

When the debris was off Mandy's injured legs, she was still unable to stand.  Ian tried not to look at the blood pouring out of her legs.

"Ok, lets get her outta here."  Mickey puffed, holding three quarters of the girl's weight, while Ian struggled with the rest.  He frowned and looked at the crushed ramp in the distance.

" Wha \- didn't you say your dad was here?" Ian asked.  Mickey laughed.

"That fucker is dead or close to, and I couldn't be happier." Ian rose an eyebrow and continued to try and support Mandy's weight.  By the time they navigated out of the mess, the poor girl was delirious.

"Iggy!   Oy , fucker, get the van.  And Tony - a first aid kit.  Mandy's  bleedin '." Ian watched as two boys rushed off to find their respective tools.

"Where's your dad?" A blonde-haired guy nearby asked, clearing some space for the pair to seat Mandy on the pavement.  While she was getting comfortable, Mickey shrugged.

"The fuck should I know.  Probably … fuckin …  dyin ' upstairs, I  dunno .  Help me out here, Joey." The boy laughed and joined the two.

"Ok, Mickey?  We have to elevate it, then bandage it, so hold her legs up above her heart while I find something to brace her legs on."

"What?  Fuck no, then all the  blood'll  pour outta her fuckin' leg.  Keep it  below  her heart so gravity doesn't fucking kill my sister, asshole!"  Mickey rolled his eyes and took Mandy's legs down while Ian argued.

"Mickey, no,  _stop_ , _STOP_ _Mickey_ , if her legs are below her heart, blood will pump to her leg  faster!   If we can manage to keep it elevated, gravity will  be on our side  and the blood will be thinner around her legs!  It'll slow the fucking bleeding!"  Ian hefted Mandy's legs higher, despite her whines of disapproval.

"Fuck you!  The motherfucking blood will come out faster, you  idiot!   I lived in the South Side of fucking Chicago my whole life before this fucking  apocalypse , I know what I'm fucking doing."

"Oh my FUCKING GOD, MICKEY, I lived my whole fucking life as well,  _ and _ I was did ROT fucking C as a teenager -"

"Boys, shut the fuck up, Tony's here." Mandy groaned, face paling.

* * *

 

They bandaged her leg and elevated it, albeit with a disgruntled Mickey's constant complaint.  The four of them, Ian, Mickey, Joey and Tony, all helped to load her into a van while Iggy tried to start up the van.  Everyone climbed in, except Ian, who had to head on home.  The redhead smacked the van on the back after securing the back doors and waved as they drove off.  He received a one fingered salute from Mickey in response.

Ian hobbled home, a permanent smile on his face.  He  didn't even notice that he didn't have his weapons until Lip pointed out.

And that night, despite the uncomfortable mattress he was on (and the thought that he'd never see Mickey again) he jerked off imagining Mickey's stubby hands wrapped around his cock, the F-U-C-K-U-U-P tattooed there, and eventually it was the fact that, like him, Mickey had a scarf over his neck even though it was fucking summer, that sent him over the edge.

Ian had no idea when wishful thinking during the apocalypse was part of the agenda, but by the next day, he was incorporating it into his daily schedule.


	2. Too Good To Be True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intro to Mickey's word and a brief recap in Mickey's pov, then a surprise meeting that brings our two favourite boys closer together <3  
> Long, even for me, to make up for keeping y'all waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating! Because I'm a fabulous human being.  
> And yes, also breaking the Fourth Wall.  
> For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, the Fourth Wall is the barrier that stops the characters knowing that they're fictional. To "break the Fourth Wall" is to allow your characters to interact with the audience and/or understand that they're fictional.  
> So this clan obviously understood that the only reason they're in a zombie apocalypse was because I was writing them that way, and knowing they were at the mercy of my keyboard, decided to go out in style, looking the "zombie apocalypse" part with cool guns and awesome clothes and shit.  
> And in case I didn't make it clear before, once zombies started invading cities and towns, families, friends, colleagues, etc. broke into clans and scavenge for food and supplies, e.g. the Milkovich clan, the Gallagher clan, etc.

Oh, no.  Mickey Milkovich was not gay.

He was just a kinky little shit who liked having stuff thrown up his ass.  But there was no way he was some fucking faggot or some shit.

No

Fucking

Way.

So when Mandy questioned him about the dildo she found hidden under a mattress, that's exactly what he told her.  Right after he begged on his hands and knees, praying she didn't tell Dad.

She'd agreed.  But he'd lost two condoms and a bar of soap for his privacy.

Bitch

* * *

"Anything?" Mickey asked gruffly as his brother burst through their yurt.  Iggy grinned, holding up a plastic bag with bottled water and clothes.

"Fourth Wall pack.  Died months ago, but a bunch of shit was left behind!" Several cheers erupted from the congregation of Milkoviches in their makeshift home.  Mickey stood and clapped his brother on the back while Iggy placed the plastic bag on the ground.  "There's more stuff over there.  I'm thinking of taking some guys to grab the stuff.  Zombies and clans haven't touched it yet, so, I dunno, may as well get into it while we can, right?" Terry stood up, laughing, and pushed aside the scarfs and rags around the doorway.  Mickey, Iggy and Joey followed as they burst into the other yurt.

"Yo!  Get the fuck up.  Svet, Nikki, Mandy.  Come on, we're scrapping up some shit another clan left behind." The Russians started stirring sleepily while Mandy forced herself to her feet.

"The fuck do 7 of us need to go?" She complained, gesturing behind him to Terry, Iggy and Joey.  Iggy shrugged.

"Its been left alone for a couple'a months and we don't want a surprise attack.  Security.  Strength in numbers?" Mandy rolled her eyes, but nodded, pulling on her tracksuit pants and grabbing several guns and a knife.

* * *

Everyone climbed into their rusty van and they drove according to Iggy's directions.  Mandy was seated at the wheel, yawning every so often.  Nikki and Svetlana were stacked on one seat beside them, while Terry, Joey, Mickey and Iggy sat in the back.

They arrived at an old car park, at least 4 stories tall of plain concrete.  The lot piled out of the van and stumbled inside.

"I'll guard the entrance, you  guys head on up." Mickey suggested, pulling out a pistol.  He watched Joey head on up, followed by Terry and the three girls, of which Svetlana and Nikki had taken a trolley.  Mickey frowned and was about to shout for his other brother when said boy came trotting around the corner.

 "This was lying around.  Here." Iggy tossed the dark-haired boy a gun.  It had a wooden barrel and metal was fastened into swirls and pretty patterns around it, including the trigger, which was fashioned to look like a circle that slightly resembled a snake.

It was light in his hand, the wood a nice change from the steel and hard plastic of his other pistols.

If Mickey had any doubts they were invading a Fourth Wall Camp, they disappeared at the sight of the gun.  The metal could have been molded into bullets, the wood to fuel campfires, but instead they made shitty looking guns.

Mickey checked it over, there were three bullets left, and he may as well use them, so Mickey pushed the gun in his waistband and nodded at Iggy in thanks.  The boy shrugged.

"It was your birthday yesterday, right?  Happy Birthday, mate."  Mickey paused for a moment and frowned.  As his brother climbed the ramp to join his family, Mickey was left with his brain spinning.

He didn't know his birthday before the apocalypse.  He figured it someday in June (or was it July?) but never paid attention really, and after the zombies took over, it didn't matter.

Mickey wasn't even aware Iggy knew his birthday, yet here he was, giving him a present.

Anger settled Mickey.  He could use it to shoot zombies in the skull without thinking twice, it gave him the adrenaline rush to get out of a burning building, or run from a pack of decaying zombies.  He had to put down a dog, once.  A couple of days after the invasion started.  Half of it's face was falling off, and the skin and muscle had peeled off one side to display several rows of rib bones, but the poor thing was still a dog, wandering aimlessly with three and a half feet.

Mickey shot it in the head and didn't lose a wink of sleep.

Well, he didn't sleep at all, but it wasn't over the dog.

And the other things he felt, emotions like fear, grief or disappointment, he could twist into pure, unadulterated rage, and use it to get his heart pumping.

He hadn't had a glimpse of contentment, happiness or even brotherly love since those fucking zombies had torn apart their neighborhood.  It was a good thing, too, because positive emotions couldn't be bent into anger, and were distracting.  And Iggy's display of affection had a huge grin spreading over his face, stretching old muscles that hadn't been used in a while.  He barely knew what to think.

* * *

In fact, he'd been so enraptured by the gift, he hadn't noticed the sound of footsteps creeping around the car park.

"Hello?" Mickey jumped nearly a foot in the air and fumbled with his gun.  It slipped through his finger and as he caught it, his finger snapped and pulled the trigger.

_Fuck_.

Thank god he hadn't hit himself.

Mickey leaned against a pole and caught his breath, thinking.  When he volunteered for security guard duty, he wasn't expecting to have any people to deal with, just zombies.

He cocked his new pistol and crept behind a pole to see his target.  There was a flash of orange hair and the tail end of some scarf of some kind.  Mickey adjusted the red scarf around his own neck and watched the man intently.  He didn't want to kill the guy, not really, but Blood-nuts couldn't be here.

Mickey weighed his options and decided to kill the guy and take his stuff.  Terry would be proud of him.

He predicted the move before the redhead made it.  At the same time, the two men flew from behind their respective poles.

Mickey pulled the trigger.

* * *

_6 months later_

"Mickey?"

"You've got to be shitting me." Mickey had Ian at gunpoint again, this time at the Gallagher camp, a loft on the North Side where all their shit was kept.

 "I thought you were dead." Ian frowned, ignoring the gun aimed at his chest.  "My family's raiding your yurts." Mickey shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nothing there, we've moved.  I thought  _you_ were dead.  Tony here," Mickey shot his brother a look, "Said your place was deserted.  With Terry dead, we're looking for a better place to stay." Ian rose an eyebrow and Mickey rose both shoulders in defeat.  "Obviously yours isn't available." Ian seemed to see Mickey's brothers for the first time, eyes skidding over their dirty clothes, uncut hair and malnourished limbs.  He sighed in defeat and turned around.

"Follow me, guys.  You can crash here." Mickey looked around at his brothers and they blinked.  Mickey was expecting many things, to be mocked, end up in a scuffle, or end up shot, but be invited into the Gallagher home wasn't one of them.

The boys followed Ian into the loft as they were given a tour.  When they arrived back in the expansive lounge room, Ian glanced over their messy clothing and frowned.

"Lip managed to start the piping up and we have a small, slow, but steady flow of water.  Go have a shower, make it quick, and wash your hair.  Then come back down and I'll cut your hair.  Give me your weapons." Mickey nodded at his brothers and they passed guns, knives and explosives over, as well as the sack of food, water and assorted supplies that was left of their camp.  Ian took them and, as he was leaving the living room, gave them directions to the bathrooms.  Mickey watched him go, then sent his brothers up for first wash, making sure they left before taking a look inside his sweatpants.

_Yep_.  He thought ruefully.   _That's a boner._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw hmu if you want to help out and be a beta reader for me :( I know I make mistakes.


	3. You'd Be Like Heaven To Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter :) Love you guys

_6 months later._

The raid on the Gallagher loft had been unexpected, to say the least.  40% of the supplies they had gathered ended up gone, taken by another clan.

The clan was unnamed and not big, but they were strategists.  One man had a zombie on a rod-like leash and bared it at the Gallagher tribe.  They didn't put up a fight.

Luckily, the rest of the Gallagher hoard was hidden.  Svetlana was still angry about the theft and tried to make a move on the men and women.  She was bitten and shot herself.

Nikki tried to avenge her and was subsequently shot.

Sitting in the aftermath of the scuffle, Mickey glanced over his new friends.

 _Friends_.

The word felt strange on his tongue.  He'd never had those, his brothers were all shitheads, as were his clients, and any other immediate family were selfish asswipes.  Well, except for Mandy.  Mandy was his friend, he supposed, but also his sister, so that didn't count.

Yet, here he was.  Lip, the asshole, but funny and smart.  Fiona, stressed, but organised and clear headed.  Debbie, cute and motivating.  Liam, pointless, but also kind of ador -  _fuck,_ Mickey was going soft.

Apparently Carl had been around once, a younger kid, but had recklessly gone out to shoot zombies and never came back.

And then Ian.  The one he got sexually frustrated about because  _fuck no,_ he wasn't a faggot and didn't like guys, but Jesus Christ he'd do anything for Ian to fuck him into a mattress.

Fuck.

* * *

So after 18 months with the Gallagher clan, he was a little bit happy.  They lived in the same loft with a trickle of water coming out of the pipes that they collected every day.  They even managed to hook up solar panels, which they used both for electricity and Lip's weird experiments, which he used to distill the water.   _ It was simple _ , he'd told them , _but important.  They were lucky the parasites hadn't infested the water and none of them had turned into zombies._ __

 

They followed in the footsteps of the clan that had robbed them, using zombies on rods to raid other clans.

They also found said tribe, all of whom were rotting in a sewer.   


Mickey was lying in the bed he sort-of shared with Ian (It was king-sized and the loft was only two-bedroom) when Ian asked him a question.

"Are you gay?" Mickey had frozen and his eyes had shifted.  An hour ago, they'd been watching Steven  Seagal  on the DVD player that they'd hooked up in the lounge room.  Mickey had sported a hard on (not as impressive as those when he thought of a certain red-head) that he hoped no one had noticed.  As far as he knew, being South Side was equal to being homophobic and while he wasn't gay, being kinky and having weird ass-fetishes could get him in trouble.

"Not … really?" It came out as a question, but Ian shrugged.

"I am." He said it simply and Mickey was shocked into silence.  Gay?  Ian?  He was conflicted, wanting to simultaneously punch and kiss the boy, but instead of asking him the billions of questions flying inside his head, he choked out,

"How did you know?" Ian looked over at him and shrugged.

"I prefer guys to girls." Mickey didn't add that he felt the same way.

"Me too." Shit.  Mickey hadn't intended to say that.  Ian seemed unfazed,

"I know.  I walked in on you fingering yourself a while back." Mickey paled and felt bile rise to his throat.  How had he not known this?  Was he gay?  He had all the weird symptoms Ian had.

Mickey ran to the bathroom and heaved.  Ian didn't touch him or even go over to him, which Mickey was thankful for.

When he came back, Ian was asleep.

* * *

 

The next morning, Mickey woke up being spooned.  It was warm and the ~~best~~ worst part was the morning wood pressed against his thigh.  Mickey hadn't been laid in years.  He thought he was the only one awake, but was ~~pleasantly~~ surprised when Ian's hand started rubbing his naked chest.

"Sleep well?" Came a husky voice in his ear.  The sound went straight to his cock, now harder than ever before.

And, well, that kind of scared Mickey.

The older man tensed and squirmed in Ian's hold, trying to get out and ending up pressed against him, chest to chest.  He glanced up at Ian's face, pink cheeks, full, red lips and lustful eyes.  The redhead was grinning smugly.

"Now that is a boner, if ever I saw one." He growled playfully.  It didn’t help the straining member in Mickey's boxers.

* * *

 

Mickey  Milkovich  figures he lost is virginity in three stages.

The first was when his father took him to a brothel at age 14 and got one of the chicks to ride him.  It was private, thank god, and Terry hadn't seen the amount of times he'd slipped out of the poor girl because his dick was too soft to stay in.  That's when he "lost his viriginity"   


The second and third times were when he was with Ian Gallagher.  Before age 19, Mickey hadn't thought he was gay.  He just thought he was into some kinky shit some other people didn't like.  He liked looking at dudes when he jacked off, but never acted on it.  Fuck, no.  Especially in the  Milkovich  clan.  Maybe when he was 15, in  Juvie , and some of the boys propositioned him, he would've done it.  Taken it up the ass from a guy, like he dreamed about.

If his motherfucking cell wall hadn't exploded that day and zombies hadn't infested the detention centre, he might have.

But then, when he met Ian Gallagher, and he'd been fucked into a ratty old mattress, he'd known.

He was gay, and there was nothing he could do about it.  He'd lost his "anal virginity" and god, it was better than any woman he'd been with.   


The third, and final time, was the first time he'd  made love , however gay that shit was.  It was several months after they'd been seeing each other and Ian had been exhausted after three rounds, so they were nice and slow and Mickey felt, dare he say it, loved.  

He knew Ian felt the same way.

It was the way rich people in good neighborhood would have lost their virginity, feeling safe and loved and happy.

It was the first time they'd been fully naked, as well, and Mickey had traced the tattoo on Ian's neck softly, while Ian reciprocated the action.

Later, the two had gone outside to look for supplies and clans to raid, when a bunch of zombies had ambushed them.  The two had been bitten, and as Mickey felt his brain tissue wear away, he clasped the hand of his lover and they fell into an eternal slumber, together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're fucking welcome


	4. SURPRISE BITCHES.  BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF ME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I thought I had finished but i lied, I haven't. Your fucking welcome.
> 
> FOR THOSE WHO DO NOT WATCH IN THE FLESH: You should, it is fucking fabulous and has been discontinued, my heart is shattered, what's left anyway.
> 
> My point: essentially this plot is that after a zombie apocalypse, people began to test on the zombies and established a 'cure'. Their flesh was still broken and decayed, and their eyes lacked irises. They have daily medication and 'rabid' zombies are sent to Norfolk to be treated and have therapy, before being released into their families again.

When Mickey awoke, he was hungry.  Hungry for flesh like he'd never been.  Hungry to spread the disease inside of him.  Hungry -

"Mickey!" Mickey  Milkovich  snapped out of his flashback and glanced fearfully at the therapist before him.

"Are you remembering something from your rabid state?" She asked.  Mickey nodded.  The lady smiled.

"Can you repeat what you remember?" Mickey rattled off his feelings when he awoke for the first time, then glanced at the clock.  Five minutes to go.

"Well, Mickey, these sessions have certainly benefitted us, and you, we hope, and we believe you are ready for release." Mickey blinked a couple of times.  Release?  Into the world?  He didn't know the first thing about the world out there.  He had no memory of anything, except the flashbacks he sometimes experienced.

Mickey slowly walked into his bunk bed and grinned ruefully at his roommate.

"Hi Ian," He smiled.  The redhead grinned back.

" Yo .  Apparently they're sending me back to my family, the  Gallaghers ."  Mickey grinned, showing off his teeth.

"That's great!" Ian smiled softly.

"You really don't remember anything, huh Mick?" Ian had asked him this all the time, but no avail.  Mickey remembered nothing from his past.  Ian shrugged, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck an d thumbing one of the folds.

Mickey shook his head.

If you asked Mickey what happened after that, he couldn't exactly tell you, it was all incredibly fast.  Ian stopped touching his scarf and thought for a second, before getting a look of determination that started in his eyes and spread throughout his face.  Ian jumped off, tore away his scarf, exposing a long, pale column that looked delicious, strutted over to where Mickey was standing and kissed his roommate on the lips.

Sparks exploded behind Mickey's eyelids as memory upon memory came rushing back.  Ian smiling at him, them fighting together, shooting things, fucking,  kissing .  Mickey's neck burned where it slotted in with Ian's.

"Fuck." Mickey breathed, as Ian pulled away.  The redhead rose his eyebrows and the older boy grinned.

" Ya wanna  get on me,  Firecrotch ?" He smirked playfully.

**Author's Note:**

> Ouch! Hope it wasn't too bad. That's sort or Ian-central and the next one will focus on Mickey.
> 
> Also, about the parasite thing, there are legitimate fungi and living animals that bend and twist at it's hosts brain ... ugh.
> 
> Try these:  
> Heterosaccus californicus  
> Paragordius varius  
> Dinocampus coccinellae  
> Toxoplasma gondii  
> Pseudocorynosoma constrictum  
> Orphiocordyceps spp  
> Cotesia glomerata  
> And this one, the scariest, Ribeiroia ondatrae, which infects tadpoles and stunts their growth with mutations, like frogs with five legs or some shit. Ugh... fuckin creepy, man


End file.
